Wednesday, October 25, 2017

Clay Pot

Poem about clay pot, sketch, pot
Clay Pot

Lazy as ever sat the clay pot peacefully on top of some rocks, above gave rain a place to rest and shelter for some lost leaves below,

Above dark clouds cried for a while, then stopped and looked down; saw the land below quenched its thirst but not felt for former’s sorrow.

Rage felt within and all sudden a white spark grew its roots below; the roar came consuming it after but not before lighting a flame yellow.

Son abandoned tried best to grow large like the fiery sun but alas couldn’t, in last breath it blow out a spark to the lazy pots below.  

Caught hold of the leaves and turned into a golden fruit, seek the sky above to tell that perish he not thus pushed hard on the clay below.

The flame flickered red then blue and red, ‘away from my way’ it cried out but soon tired send its heat through to teach the pot a lesson or two.

Red clay blacked and tightened below; soaked inside as much us it could but no more heat could it take and at last passed on to the water above.

Flame blamed the pot for blocking its freedom and water blamed for upsetting its state, but neither tried even to see the truth.

The whole world was there, some sided the flame and some the water and the rest sided none but just stood to watch fun that comes.

Some stood below simply see the black pot blocking and some stood above simply see the red pot heating, the rest far enough simply to laugh at both.

The pot sat idly on top of the rock, took all the blames with no rue and in turn prevented a quarrel between the two worlds thus brewed.

Eventually the fire burned out and so did turn the water to vapour; both blamed the pot for the one deed that to come helpful in their need.

The clay pot sat peacefully on top of some rocks, for ages likewise though fire and water will come and go always seeking the one to blame.

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